


"Thirty-Five Rules of Wizardry" by Credence Barebone

by Corpium



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Follow-up drabbles in third, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Main chapter in second person, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpium/pseuds/Corpium
Summary: 1. You are allowed to leave the suitcase. In fact, you ought to leave it at least once every three days, or Newt will start to worry.
  _________________________________________________________Translated into Russian/русский by a 21st century whore on ficbook.net. Many thanks!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted on [tumblr](http://corpium.tumblr.com/post/154475764164/thirty-five-rules-of-wizardry-by-credence)

1\. You are allowed to leave the suitcase. In fact, you ought to leave it at least once every three days, or Newt will start to worry.

  
2\. Don’t think about Him. Don’t think about Him. Don’t think about Him. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don't think don't think don’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’tthinkdon’t

  
3\. Don’t hurt Newt. He will say it’s alright, but it is not.

  
4. Do hurt Lethifolds when they try to smother Newt. 

  
5\. Don’t trust Newt with his own safety. He’s an idiot, and the fact that he’s alive is in itself a miracle.

  
6\. Practice smiling like Newt practices eye contact. One day you’ll get it right.

  
7\. Kneazles are not to be trifled with.

  
8\. Don’t be disappointed that magic works differently for you. You already knew you weren’t human.

  
9\. It’s okay for Newt to make friends who are not you. He won’t leave you.

   
10\. Win Pickett's approval by bribing him with flowers and sugar water. 

  
11\. Tell wizards who ask about your education that you were homeschooled and leave it at that. Don’t wonder what your life would have been like if you’d gone to Ilvermony or Hogwarts. Don’t think about the friends you might have made, which House you might have been in, the person you might have become. Don’t wonder what you’d be like without this tremulous rage writhing within you.

  
12\. “What would Newt do?” is insufficient, since Newt is, as noted, an idiot. Use “What would Tina do?” instead.

  
13\. Don’t tell people you don’t need a wand. Get a fake one instead.

  
14\. Stop touching Newt. Stop imagining his skin sliding beneath yours, his smile brushing your lips, the breath of his gasps tickling your ears. Don’t let him know.

  
15\. Do touch Newt if it means saving him from a vampire’s thrall. Don’t tell him you killed the vampire. Don’t tell him you miss his hugs. Don’t notice the hurt in his eyes when you pull away.

  
16\. Realize it’s been five months since you last thought about Him. Don’t smile like your teeth are sharper than the vampire’s.

  
17\. Ignore Newt’s stutters and pink cheeks when he sees you swimming with the giant squid. It’s just how he is with people, even if he’s never acted this way around you. Don’t notice him trying not to look at you. This is not what you want it to be. It can’t be, for his sake. You’re too dirty. Too dangerous. Too wrong.

  
18\. When He comes for you again, don’t kill him. Don’t feel him choke. Don’t flood his veins and shatter his bones. Listen to Newt.

  
19\. Don’t let Newt die because you listened to him. Don’t forget that he is good and kind and dangerously forgiving and breakable. Don’t forget that he is everything you don’t deserve.

  
20\. Don’t let him find you.

  
21\. Get a job as a No-maj waiter in Chicago where no one knows you or the damage you’ve done to New York. You’re safe here. Newt’s safe from you.

  
22\. You are allowed to leave your apartment when you’re not working, but no one cares if you don't.

  
23\. Try not to think about the magical world. Try not to think about unicorns and dragons and the light in Newt’s eyes. Try not to think about the brightness running through your veins. Try not to forget how dangerous you are.

  
24\. When you see a child who reminds you of yourself, don’t get angry. Show her kindness. Make her smile.

  
25\. Say yes when your manager asks you to babysit. Don’t panic.

  
26\. Read your manager’s kids to sleep. They like the sound of your voice.

  
27\. Say yes when your coworker asks you to go ice skating. Let her down gently when she tries to kiss you. Point out that there's a reason your other coworker gets so nervous around her. Agree to be friends, and don’t get too drunk at the speakeasy she takes you to.

  
28\. Don’t have sex with random strangers. They’re not who you want them to be.

  
29\. Try to ignore the signs of a manticore turning the city into its new territory. Track it down anyway to a suburban forest preserve and save the city from it. Clumsily cast several Obliviates and pretend you don’t feel alive again.

  
30\. Don’t be surprised when Newt shows up a day later.

  
31\. Tell him you missed him. Apologize to Pickett. Hug them both.

  
32\. Invite Newt over. Try and fail to stop yourself from touching him. Try not to pay attention to how firmly your shoulders press together, how delicate his elbow feels under your guiding hand, how insistent his grip is when he drags you from one creature to the next, how softly his hair slides through your fingers. How warm his palm feels on your face.

  
33\. Transfigure him a spare bed. Let yourselves both forget about it.

  
34\. When Newt calls you a miracle, remind him that he’s a miracle to you, too.

  
35\. Stay with him.


	2. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I might write some follow-up drabbles for this fic. Here's the "prelude" to the book lol.

Credence slams down onto the second floor of the house, forcing his body to coalesce. It’s a difficult process that leaves him quivering and numb, like he’s _less_ than he was before… before Mr. Graves. Not that he was much of a person even then, but now…. His mother was right. He is an abomination.

(Mr. Graves had called him a miracle.)

Wrath sticks in his throat like a stone as he swallows it down. He’ll disappear after this, he decides — slip into nothingness and just… be done with the world. He’s so tired, and there is no saving for him.

But there’s one thing he needs to do first.

“Modesty?” he calls out. His voice is soft, but after all the destruction — _his_ destruction _—_ it’s loud in the quiet air, like the night itself is mourning.

Rubble cracks under his feet as he creeps from room to room, stepping over cracked support beams and through holes in the walls. Moonlight shines through the broken roof and shattered outer wall, and the floor dips under his next footstep, dangerously unstable. The house feels like it might collapse at any moment. “Modesty, please, it’s not safe here—”

A whimper interrupts him, coming from the bathroom he just passed. He steps back inside and opens up the cupboard under the sink, and there’s Modesty, staring up at him with wide eyes, her trembling arms locked around her knees to make herself small.

Credence covers his mouth and crouches down to look at her. “I am so sorry, Modesty,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrinks further back into the cupboard, and Credence waits there helplessly. There’s nothing he can do, can say, to make this better. “I…” Words fail him.

“You’re a witch,” she says, voice small. (“You’re a miracle.”)

Credence looks away. “I don’t know what I am.”

The wind picks up, and the house groans around them. Credence looks back at her, trying to make her listen. “But we have to get you out of here, Modesty. It’s not safe here.”

A crack of thunder shakes the city, rattling the sink pipes and showering Modesty with dust. She gasps and coughs, eyes watering.

“Come on,” says Credence, standing up and offering her his hand. She gets out of the cupboard, but she doesn’t take the hand. Credence doesn’t blame her.

It’s raining when they step outside. It makes the… thing… inside him twist and churn in discontent. He tenses, fearing he might lose control of it again.

Modesty startles him out of his thoughts by taking his hand. “Credence…?” Her gaze goes out of focus as she looks somewhere further down the street. “That’s neat,” she says dreamily.

Witches.

They walk down the street toward them, wands held aloft, raising walls, sealing windows, filling in the cracks rent into the streets. Erasing Credence’s path of destruction and heading right for him and Modesty. His grip on Modesty’s hand tightens.

Had they seen his face? Do they know who he is?

“Where are we going to stay now?” asks Modesty.

Credence stills. “We?” he croaks.

“Since Mary Lou and Chastity are dead.”

She’s always been so blunt and straightforward. Credence doesn’t know how she’s managed to survive Mary Lou. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He tries to pull away from her, but her grip tightens on his.

“It’s not your fault the roof collapsed, Credence,” Modesty says. “Ma would probably say it was, but…” She shrugs. “You don’t really do much of anything, I think.”

Credence stares down at her, skin growing cold. _What?_

He looks around again. No one seems to care about the witches rewriting the world around them. Everyone except them looks dazed and vaguely confused, almost blissful, like Modesty. _They’re all forgetting_. Modesty thinks the roof collapsed. She doesn’t hate him, doesn’t fear him. She has no idea how much danger she’s in just by standing next to him. He has to get her away from him.

Most of the children who ate at Mary Lou’s were orphans, half-starved and desperate themselves, some of them homeless, others who might as well be. Even if some of their families felt good will towards Modesty, they already didn’t have enough to feed themselves. And the rest of the neighborhood thought Mary Lou was a crackpot. There’s one person, though, who Credence knows might help.

Decision made, he pulls Modesty into a grimy alley further down the street and hides her behind the side of a dumpster, out of sight of the mouth of the alley. “Wait here,” he says. “Don’t look.”

She tries to argue, but enough insistence on Credence’s part leave her huddled silently against the grungy thing, shivering and soaked. Credence gives her his jacket — it’s little help, but at least it’s something — and waits at the mouth of the alley.

He’s not quite sure how to go about this. It was easy before, protecting Modesty and the other children. All he had to do was get in the way. But now, asking someone to do something for him? He couldn’t even get passersby to take his flyers.

He peers around the corner at the approaching witches, watching them warp the world and make lies real. They have such power, like Mr. Graves.

Credence has power, too, now.

He grabs the first witch to pass him and shoves the man against the alley wall, forearm against the man’s throat, other hand over his mouth. The witch’s wand hand twitches — “Don’t,” Credence says softly, his edges blurring.

The man freezes, and for a moment the thing inside Credence rages against him, tempting him. It would be so easy to let go now. So easy to rip this man asunder like his bright curses had surely done to Credence earlier in the subway station. _Eye for eye. As he has done it shall be done to him._

“Credence?” comes Modesty’s small voice from the shadows of the alley, and the rage dies in Credence as quickly as it roared to life. He’s scared her again.

He slumps, releasing the petrified witch. _Something_ shifts in the air around him, like when Mr. Graves would appear and disappear before Credence’s own eyes. Credence grabs the man’s arm with a smoking hand. “Don’t,” he whispers again, making the briefest of eye contact. The man nods, and Credence stares at his shoulder. “Do... do you know Miss Tina Goldstein?” Credence asks.

The man’s brow furrows before he nods again.

“I need you to bring her here, please.”

 

o—o—o

 

When Tina apparates into the alley, Credence is nowhere in sight. The younger Gravebone girl is, though, watching Tina from Auror Green’s side.

“You didn’t bring back-up!?” Green sputters, chest heaving, brown skin tinged ashen. Green’s always been an anxious one. Great with details, though.

“We didn’t need another firefight, Green,” she says. She eyes the little girl, wishing Queenie were here in her place. Queenie would know what to say, but Tina…. Tina’s never been the best with children. She loves them, but they’re so danger-prone. One mistake, and poof, dead. It just sounds so stressful.

She sticks out her hand for the girl to shake. “I’m Tina Goldstein,” she says. “I’m like a police officer. What’s your name?” Tina asks.

The Barebone girl does not take her hand, only stares. Frankly, it’s a little creepy.

“Okay,” says Tina, straightening and sharing a look with Green. “Why don’t you carry on with the city? I’ll find a place for her.”

Green looks around the alley nervously. “I don’t like this, Goldstein. I feel like he’s waiting for me to leave.”

Tina tips her head in acknowledgment. “Then we better not irritate him by making him wait any longer, I think.”

Green looks at her incredulously.

“Look, there isn’t any protocol for this, Green, and right now the best thing we can do is make sure he stays happy. Besides,” she adds, “someone needs to let the President know he’s still alive.”

“Couldn’t we just send a Patronus for that, too?”

Tina crosses her arms. “Maybe she’ll want an actual conversation.”

Green’s jaw tightens. “Fine,” he says. “But if you die, it’s not my fault.” He apparates away with a crack.

That out of the way, Tina scans the alley. She doesn’t see anything, but all the same — “Credence, he’s gone now if you want to talk. But you’ll have to make it quick. Green will be back with backup any minute.”

Only the pattering rain fills the silence for a moment; then a gritty sort of slithering and a muffled “‘lo, Miss Goldstein,” comes from behind her. Tina turns to find him drawing himself together, the Barebone girl looking on in mild interest before promptly forgetting because of the rain.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Tina says softly, a watery smile on the edges of her lips.

The expression on his face says she might as well have spoken in Gobbledegook. She sighs. “We really don’t have much time, though. Green will be back with reinforcements to capture you or worse. Why did you bring your sister here?”

Credence looks down at his feet. “Her name’s Modesty. Mary Lou’s… gone, and— “he swallows— “She needs a home, a real home, and I don’t know where to find one.”

“Credence,” Tina begins. The girl’s a No-Maj. There’s no way she can be part of their world.

“Please,” he says, finally making eye contact. He looks at her like she’s some sort of higher power. It’s frightening, that gaze.

“Alright,” she relents. “I’ll find somewhere for her. Somewhere good, I promise.” She looks around nervously. “I’ll have to get her out of here fast, though, before MACUSA gets involved,” she says to herself. Another realization makes her frown. This just isn’t fair. “Credence, you have to leave America. It’s not safe for you here, especially now that they’ll know you’re still alive. Sorry about that,” she adds guiltily. “I didn’t know how else to get rid of him.”

Credence nods, looking back at his feet and shrugging. “It’s fine. Thank you for taking care of Modesty.” He finally turns his attention toward the little girl, and Tina quickly spells an umbrella into existence so that this memory, at least, will stay true for the girl. “Miss Goldstein’s a good person. You can trust her.”

Modesty looks dismayed and more alert as she steps away from the wall. Tina keeps the umbrella carefully over her head. “You’re leaving?”

He nods. “I have to. I’m sorry.” He squeezes his eyes shut, his form shuddering.

“Wait,” says Tina, and Credence’s shifting slows. “Do you remember Newt Scamander?” He nods ever so slightly, his form blurring at the edges, almost beautiful in its alien impermanence. “His ship leaves for Europe at ten in the morning. He can help you. I know he’ll want to.”

Credence stares at her for a moment, gaze fragile and depthless. It breaks her heart. “Thank you, Miss Goldstein,” he says, and he breaks apart, formless and shifting, vanishing into the sewers. It’s a pitiful goodbye. Tina hopes it’s not the last.

She turns back to Modesty, who stares on with wide eyes, mouth open in a silent ‘o’. “I’d like to introduce you to my sister. She’s a very nice witch. I think you’ll like her a lot more than me,” Tina says ruefully. She offers Modesty her hand. “Would you like to meet her?”

This time, Modesty takes her hand, beaming in wonder. “Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only saw the movie once and Tina didn't make a big impression on me, so forgive me for any oocness in her character please.


	3. Rule 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32\. Invite Newt over. Try and fail to stop yourself from touching him. Try not to pay attention to how firmly your shoulders press together, how delicate his elbow feels under your guiding hand, how insistent his grip is when he drags you from one creature to the next, how softly his hair slides through your fingers. How warm his palm feels on your face.

“Where did you get this?” Newt asks, brushing a finger along the frame of a painting mounted on the wall of Credence’s tiny living room. It’s a rippling lake backed by misty mountains, an impressionistic and wistful landscape comprised of dreamy blues, purples and greens. Credence has never been one to indulge himself, but something about the painting had called to him when he first saw it. Except for the bookcase and the painting, the rest of his apartment remains bare and solely functional. It hasn’t felt right yet to decorate it, to accept it as home. He’d never planned to stay this long.

“Flea market,” says Credence, hovering at Newt’s shoulder. He knows he’s closer than is socially acceptable, but Newt had never minded before, and Credence can’t help himself. It’s been so long since he last saw Newt. “It reminded me of the Andes.”

Newt looks down with a smile. “I did enjoy our time there,” he murmurs. Credence notes the tightening of his grip around the handle of his suitcase.

“How’s Mildred?” Credence asks.

Mildred was a phoenix they had rescued from a cult in the Andes. She had hated Credence on sight, but she’d warmed up to him after a couple months of proximity.

Newt’s shoulder brushes Credence’s chest as he turns around. He doesn’t seem to notice the touch, and it’s a poignant reminder to Credence of what he had left behind after Grindelwald’s attack. “Would you like to see her?” Newt asks, eyes bright and face pinched like he’s trying not to sound too hopeful.

The corners of Credence’s mouth twitch. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

 

o—o—o

 

Mildred screeches when she sees Credence and turns her beak up when he approaches, but after an apology and a sweet, courtesy of Newt, she allows him to run his hand through her feathers.

“Oh!” says Newt, grabbing Credence’s free hand, his skin as warm as ever. “The Graphorns had another calf, come on!”

He tugs Credence along for hours, introducing him to his more recently acquired residents: a porlock (“Didn’t mean to take her in, actually, but she seems rather attached to the thestrals”), a clabbert (“Poor thing damaged his pustule somehow. Should be ready for release in another week or so”), a tadfoal (“rescued him from a collector. Kept him in a twenty-gallon tank, would you believe it. I’ve been searching for his school for weeks now.”), and a dugbog (“All the blood is from poachers, you see. Just kidding! It’s mandrake root. You know I’d never really sacrifice a human being, Credence, please…. Credence. Credence, stop looking at me like that.”)

They wind up sitting on a grassy outcrop, watching the pixies and fairies fight over the tallest pine tree. “Should you separate them?” asks Credence.

Newt shrugs. “Turf wars are natural behavior for them.”

“Oh,” says Credence. “So you’ll be releasing them then?”

“Once I find a suitable forest. The right kind seems to be becoming increasingly difficult to come by, unfortunately. I’m hoping the Pacific Northwest will have one.” Newt sighs and lies down. False moonlight highlights the curve of his lips and the hollow of his neck, and Credence looks away, turning his attention toward the mooncalves grazing in the valley below them. He’s seen so much of the human body these past few months, he's writhed under gleeful touches and coaxed out aching gasps from trembling lips, and yet Newt’s collarbone remains the most sinful thing he’s ever seen.

“Why did you leave, Credence?”

Credence fiddles with a blade of grass. “You know why, Mister Scamander.”

Newt pokes his side, making Credence twitch. “None of that now, Mister Barebone,” he scolds, and Credence hides a small smile.

He glares down at Newt. “Newt,” he says pointedly, poking Newt back in the side, and Newt grins before turning somber once again.

He looks away, though, not pressing, and it’s that which makes Credence lie down beside him. A light breeze passes over them, carrying both the scents of the arid desert and rain-heavy clouds.

“Grindelwald,” Credence starts, then stops, swallowing down memories of Newt’s screams. “He won’t stop coming for me while I’m in reach. So he won’t stop coming for you. So… I have to remain unreachable.”

Newt rolls onto his side, facing him. “Living on the run is no way to live at all.”

Credence faces him in turn. “It’s worth it, though, to keep you safe.”

Newt blushes. Oh, how Credence has missed that blush. “You can’t just say things like that, Credence.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Well, it’s not worth it to me!” Newt snaps, propping himself up on his elbows, and Credence raises his eyebrows in turn, taken aback. “I missed you,” Newt explains, voice low and tense. “And I know — if you left because you wanted to, because you were tired of me, then… then that’s perfectly alright. But if — if it was because of that bloody, Fwooper-mad maniac, then damn it, that’s not good enough!” He breathes hard and pushes his hair back, looking mildly surprised at himself. He shakes his head and stands up. “Sorry—“

“Wait,” Credence says, scrambling to his feet and grabbing Newt’s hand before the other man can leave, and promptly finds himself at a loss for words. He swallows, looking away, grip tightening on Newt’s hand. The Obscurus flexes under his skin. He wishes he could engulf Newt within himself and never let him go. He also wishes he didn’t wish that.

“Credence,” Newt murmurs, “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I’m afraid I got caught up—“

“I could never get tired of you.” The words wrench themselves out of Credence’s chest. “Please, never think I feel that way about you,” and maybe he’s said too much, but he had to say it. “I only…. I want you to be safe.”

Newt smiles crookedly. “I’ve started eating pickled murtlap tentacles.”

Of course he has.

“They have some fascinating anti-jinx properties, really. And even without taking that into account, I’m the safest when I’m with you, don’t you think? You wouldn’t believe some of the trouble I’ve gotten up to without you—“

“Oh, I would.”

“I have gills now. Feel them!” Newt says cheerily, touching something on his throat.

Credence makes a face but brings his hand up to Newt’s neck anyway. He hesitates, fingers an inch away.

Newt tilts his head to the side, baring his neck. It’s unseemly, offering Credence so much vulnerability, but it’s too late to pull away now without hurting Newt’s feelings.

Credence traces a barely visible seam in Newt’s skin with his thumb, and to his surprise Newt’s breath shudders in response. It’s a faint sound that makes Credence’s blood rush, and he finds himself stepping closer even as Newt steps back.

“Credence—“ Newt begins, sounding regretful, and Credence cuts him off by petting his… his _gill_ again and stepping even closer, curling his hand around the back of Newt’s neck to hold him in place.

“You like this,” Credence says in realization.

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into—“ 

"I’ve had sex with three people,” Credence says before feeling a belated blush creep up his neck.

Newt blinks at him. “You have? At once!?"

Credence looks away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No," he says in a strained voice. "Separately.”

“Huh,” says Newt. “That’s… good, I think.” Then he looks suspicious. “Did you _want_ to have sex with them?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I’m glad. Wow.” Newt swallows, and Credence can’t resist looking up to catch the tail-end of the motion. “You’ve come so far, Credence.... You’ve really settled down here, haven’t you.” It’s less a question and more of a disappointed statement, and Credence hates the sound of it.

“Not really,” Credence says, and Newt looks up with far too hopeful eyes. He probably thinks he’s being subtle, too. “I missed you.” Credence looks around the case. “Missed this. Desperately,” he admits quietly.

Newt brings his hands to Credence’s face and brushes his thumbs along Credence’s cheekbones, waiting for him to make eye contact. “Then stay,” he says, and for a moment, all Credence can do is stare. “Stay,” Newt pleads again.

Credence knows he shouldn’t. Knows Grindelwald will come after them. Knows he doesn’t have the strength to keep resisting Newt’s gentle touches. But he also knows that he’s selfish and greedy and that Newt makes him feel real, makes him feel powerful in a way the Obscurus never could. So he trails his hands up Newt’s arms, turns Newt’s pliant wand hand over, and presses a kiss to Newt’s palm, all the while watching the way Newt goes soft and curious under his touch.

“Okay,” Credence says, and it’s worth it to see Newt’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be porn lol but then these two would not stfu and got all ~emotional~ instead XD
> 
> cross-posted on [tumblr](http://corpium.tumblr.com/post/155872589844/thirty-five-rules-rule-32) with a rough timeline

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome!


End file.
